


The Boy Who Cried Wolf: Caterpillar

by PoeticMilk



Series: THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Lies, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Prequel, Stalker, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism, Woosan, brief descriptions of self harm, mentions death, mentions self harm, subtle suicidal indications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticMilk/pseuds/PoeticMilk
Summary: In this mess that people called "life", San found something he could hold onto, something he wanted to protect. It was an obsession that led to hurt and love, an obsession that had its very own name: Jung Wooyoung.♡ This is the prequel to the "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" series! ♡
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976260
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	The Boy Who Cried Wolf: Caterpillar

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there?♡  
>  It's been such a long time you all!! I can't believe I finally managed to put something out again. Writing seems a little hard these days!  
>  Nonetheless, I hope you all have been well in these weird times!
> 
> I am back with a little "prequel" to the TBWCW series that I would like to call "Part 0: The Boy Who Cried Wolf: Caterpillar"  
>  It is a one shot entirely from San's perspective and I hope you guys will like it!
> 
> **Attention!  
>  If there are any "new" readers here that are unfamiliar with the TBWCW series, you should first read the 28-part "TBWCW: Chrysalis" fic. This little "special" contains a few spoilers for the actual story! **
> 
> Now I hope you all have fun reading it, there are a few easter eggs and hopefully you will sense some nostalgia on the way. But remember--it's not over yet....

**THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF: CATERPILLAR**

****

_22 March 2018_

Just what was going on inside his messed up head? What was this chaos that wasn't letting go of him? Why was his vision so utterly blurry, his hands so shaky and his thoughts so loud but his mind so very empty?

He wasn't quite there.

He stood there in the restaurant, right next to the door that lead to the kitchen. He'd let his eyes hover over the guest's heads, all their conversations amalgamated into one loud incomprehensible noise that only amplified San's depersonalisation. He felt like he was flowing in space, like his mind was somewhere else and the more he tried to look for it the further it seemed to get away from him. He felt lost and alone. Abandoned, yet again.

He didn't wish for his father to come back. San would lie if he said that he'd not deserved the stroke. This very phrase that Officer Park had told San when he'd informed him about his father's death was stuck in his head, put a smile on his face every single time he replayed the scene in his head like his favorite movie scene.

_"Your father has passed away. My condolences."_

Condolences. Even San knew that Officer Park hadn't really meant that, there was not one single person on this earth that mourned his father's death. Getting this news had felt like winning the lottery, maybe it had felt even better. San wouldn't know, he'd never won anything, but he imagined it to feel just like that. Still, San had wished for Officer Park to rather congratulate him. His funeral had been a blast, at least for San.

So why, when his biggest wish had finally come true, was he feeling this scary emptiness? Now even his father who he hated with all his guts had left him. He'd left him behind in this cruel world, all alone at such a young age. Rejections never felt good, not even when getting rejected by those you couldn't stand. In fact, it felt even worse because it made you seem like an even worse person, didn't it? It made San wonder if he'd deserved all this. If he could, he would've exchanged his father's death for his mother's, resurrecting her so San could watch TV with her, resting his heavy head on her lap while she was threading her beautiful fingers through his dark hair, transparent nail polish on her fingernails. She would slice him some apples, would make the pieces extra small and she would even peel off the skin. Simply because San wanted them like that.

God, he missed her. And today he missed her even more than ever. It hurt. It hurt especially because now there wasn't even anyone left he could blame for her death. Or should he have blamed himself?

"San! Table three."

He registered hearing his name and turned around. He was handed a gigantic plate with a teaspoon full of food and even though he'd never questioned the meals here before, the food looked strange to him that day. He'd looked at the plate seemingly for hours, he didn't know how much time had actually passed until he came round again. Was this all a dream, was he even awake?

He let his eyes wander about the room, trying to remember the table that had ordered the dish. Did his colleague even say something? Was it table four? He looked around, there was table four. A family of three, mum, dad, son. It looked like they were missing a dish. San breathed a sigh of relief.

He walked over to the table slowly, both of his hands were tightly holding onto the plate because he didn't trust himself with his shaky fingers today. It made him seem unprofessional but he was too absentminded to actually realize it. There was just this robotic smile on his face that he’d adapted after working at this place for several months. 

When he reached the table he bowed a little and then placed the food in front of the handsome young man that seemed to be just around San’s age. A beautiful boy with long lashes and a face that suggested that his mind was probably together with San’s, somewhere in a place that neither of them knew of.

“Enjoy your meal,” said he and turned around, wanting to get back to where he was standing just a minute ago. Maybe he could go and splash some cold water into his face first before returning back to that place to think, or not think, just stand and exist. Maybe not even that.

“Excuse me, waiter?”

He stopped abruptly and slowly walked back, this lukewarm smile still printed on his face, though it felt like the corners of his mouth suddenly got heavier and heavier, making it hard for him to hold up that smile. 

There were two pairs of eyes sneering at him, one belonged to the mother, the other to the father. The son wasn’t looking at him, he seemingly wasn’t even looking at anything—maybe he was currently trying to find out where his mind had escaped to. Meanwhile San felt a weird sensation built up inside him, he felt uncomfortable, it was like someone had rung the emergency alarm in his body, red lights and sirens everywhere.

“Is everything alright, ma'am?” San tried to sound as nice as he possibly could but his voice was shaking, it seemed to have pissed off the lady even more.

“No, it certainly is not.” She pointed at the food that San had just brought them. “We’ve been waiting for our son to get his food for quite a while now and then, when you finally bring it, it’s not even what he ordered!”

San blinked a few times, his eyes went back to the son again but he was still avoiding everyone’s glance. His arms were crossed over his chest, back leaning against the chair and he seemed angry. It intimidated San even more.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll immediately bring you the correct dish.” San reached for the plate, his hand was shaking so badly that he almost dropped it—now he’d caught the boy’s attention. There was a nervous laugh, a loud sigh from the mother and suddenly the familiar voice of his boss behind him. San clutched onto the plate, pressing it’s edge against his ribs.

“Is there a problem?”

There was a worried but professional smile on his face, the atmosphere had changed immediately and San felt like a tiny, helpless mouse next to him.

The woman furiously explained what she’d just told San but this time she sounded even angrier, especially towards San. Weirdly enough, she was the only one complaining. Her husband had returned to his phone, he probably wasn't realizing what was going on around him and their son was looking outside the window where the colorful street lights smiled back at him.

“Please excuse our incompetence. Our employee here is still fairly new.” That was a blatant lie. “We will bring you the right dish in no time. How do you feel about a bottle of champagne or wine—it’s on the house.”

San didn’t hear the woman’s response, his thoughts had already drifted away again, but then he saw his boss turn around, leaning towards him and while still maintaining this friendly smile, he demanded for San to wait for him in the locker room since he’d be handling the situation. San nodded quickly and excused himself, brought the plate back into the kitchen and hid in the locker room where he felt like he could finally breathe again. He felt so embarrassed.

  
  
  


“You’re fired.”

San’s eyes widened, he looked at his boss. “Fired? But why?”

His boss scoffed, looked about the room before looking back at San. He seemed annoyed, angry, upset. “San. You’ve been causing trouble the whole day. You’ve dropped two plates—almost three—forgot to take up orders and if you did, you wrote them down incorrectly and then ended up mixing up the dishes. This may be acceptable if it was your first day at a regular café or a middle class restaurant but not here, not in my place. This is unacceptable. Important people dine here. Do you even realize how many potential customers we might've lost today because of your incompetence?” 

His pointer finger was boring into San’s chest and San was having a hard time withstanding the pressure.

“I’m sorry boss. You know I usually work just fine but today I just seem to be having a bad day. You know that my dad—”

“It’s already decided, San. I’ve done you a favor after your mother passed away but I can’t tolerate any more mistakes and maybe it’s for the best. You shouldn’t work here forever. Try to get a real job, live your life, you’re still young.” He sighed and then put his hand on San’s shoulder in a lousy attempt to comfort him. It seemed as though he was trying to get out of this situation a victim. “Do me a favor and leave your working clothes behind, here’s your check. I put in more than usual, so be grateful for that.”

San only managed to stutter incomprehensible words. His boss sighed and grabbed his wrist, shoved the envelope into his hands before leaving him behind in the locker room. 

His shoulders dropped, his hands formed into fists, wrinkling the envelope. He wished he could scream at his boss and throw the money back at him because he didn’t need it, telling him that he’d never liked working at this place anyways. But it would’ve been a lie. He’d liked working there. The customers weren’t always nice and the woman today actually went fairly easy on him. His coworkers also only ever side eyed him, but this place was special to San. His mother had liked it.

She’d been there once because she knew the owner, San’s former boss, and had promised that if she got the chance to go there again she would take San with her. She’d never told San how she’d got to know his boss, but he’d also never asked.

They ended up never going but after she’d died and San met his boss at her funeral, he’d come up to him and told him that whenever he needed a job, he should come to the restaurant. He’d said he felt like he’d owed it to his mother. And so only a few weeks later, San took the offer. Whenever he changed into formal working clothes, adjusted the little bow tie and walked out to work, he imagined sitting down at one of the beautiful tables with his mother. They would order the most expensive food on the menu and act all fancy and when asked who they were they’d pretend to be queen and prince of Neverland. His mother would buy him champagne, ignoring the fact that her little prince was still a minor and then they’d drink until they’d become all giggly and their cheeks all rosy. Hand in hand they’d walk home into their run down apartment, lay on the freezing cold floor and joke about all the swanky people they’d met and how the waiters had bowed down so deeply that you could hear their backs crack. His mother would look so beautiful in her expensive sparkly dress and the heavy makeup and San would be sweating in his suit.

He didn’t cry. His eyes were too tired, his cheeks remained dry.

It had already been too late anyways. He didn’t understand why he’d liked working at this place so much when the dream of him and his mother dining there together was long impossible to fulfill. And yet it seemed as though something was taken from him that he’d cherished. He’d always felt proud working at a place like this even though he was the one suffering back pain after coming home from long shifts. He’d never got to taste the champagne, let alone the lifeless water that they served for free.

How could it be that at the pitiful age of 18 years he’d lost everything he’d ever owned? Who was it that was chasing after him so much? Had he been such a cruel person in his past life? Was it fair to have treated him like that?

His legs carried him to his locker where he changed into his normal clothes. For the last time he glanced at the little black bow tie that he’d loved so much and for a second he thought about taking it with him. But he knew it would only remind him of this lonely dream that would forever remain nothing but a mere dream. He put it down, locked it away. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend. Just why was it that he always had to say goodbye and never hello?

He took his stuff and left the building through the back door. One of his coworkers was leaning against the cold wall, a cigarette clamped between her two fingers. San felt the urge to give her a jacket but he didn’t even have one himself. She didn’t look at San when he passed her and somehow he was thankful for that, it felt as though she knew. He’d liked her.

The weather was quite cold but San liked it. The cold wind was gnawing at his skin, it let him feel something. When he emerged from the dark alleyway he turned around to eye the beautiful building again. He wondered if he’d have ever managed to eat there if his mother hadn’t passed away. His gut feeling told him no, but in the end he realized that he didn’t even need this fancy restaurant with it’s golden lights and piano music. He didn’t need any restaurant at all. He would’ve been fine withdining at home, in their living room in front of their TV with his mother. They’d eat the leftovers from the day before and San had never liked them but since he was eating with his mum, it would’ve been the best meal he’d ever had.

“Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

San perked up his ears, he looked at the entrance. Suddenly he felt the urge to hide when he saw the family he’d gotten into a little conflict with earlier. He felt ashamed, somehow even more than just half an hour ago. Their son was walking ahead of them and he seemed angry, even angrier than before. But San believed that it wasn’t because of the food but rather because of his parents.

They were following him to their car, none of them said a word back. Maybe they didn’t even finish their food? San felt bad. He really didn’t understand why their son was angry at them for having done absolutely nothing wrong. He should’ve been mad at San, all three of them should've. He would’ve given everything to be in his place, to have parents like he did who did everything they could to make their son happy—and yet he was complaining about them?

In that moment, San detested him. He detested him more than anything and anyone this evening.

He’d been so wrong.

_25 March 2018_

_Dear diary,_

_do you believe in soulmates?_

Another failure. There wasn’t even as much as a shaky hand left, his body was void of any kind of emotions. He didn’t know shame anymore, didn't know fear. He fished out a little note from the depths of his pocket and unfolded it. Another address to cross out. He’d already tried to get a job at five different places, all of which had ended up rejecting him. He hadn’t been super picky and had tried to get into any kind of place that he could find and yet no one seemed to want him.

He’d tried at three different convenience stores, a library and a cafe—all of which paid considerably less than his previous job, but who was he to complain? He’d take anything, literally, as long as it helped him make ends meet. He did have money that he’d put aside but that was for emergencies only. He wasn’t even sure anymore if getting kicked out of his apartment was something he considered an emergency. Was it really that bad if he didn’t work anymore, didn’t make money that he could barely live off anyways? Was it bad if he lived on the streets, leading a life almost equally miserable? What did he even need money for?

What did he even live for? Did he just live to get rejected? 

He felt as though more and more people rejected him every day and seemingly without any good reasons. Or was it just something he didn’t see himself? He knew for sure that he didn’t need a master’s degree to stand behind a cash register or to take up orders at a restaurant, right? So why did no one hire him then? Was it his looks? Because of his bad haircut? Or was it his aura? Was he so predictable, could people so easily recognise that he was nothing but a pitiful chunk of misery?

Whatever it was, San wanted to know. He wanted to know why he wasn’t good enough, why people seemed so obsessed with rejecting him. But he never got any answers. Why did his mother leave? Why did his father throw him away? Why did the rest of his family abandon him?

_Sorry, we just hired someone. Oh, we actually don’t need anyone right now._

Were they trying not to hurt his feelings? He appreciated that but sometimes he also just wished for them to blatantly tell him to his face to get lost so he wouldn’t leave through the door angry at himself for not having got the job.

San was adaptable, listened to his superiors, followed their rules and never complained. What happened at the restaurant was a one time thing, he’d been out of his mind, hadn’t been quite there. In fact, it had seemed as though he had left planet earth completely and to be frank, he felt as though he still hadn’t come back. He couldn’t be the only one making mistakes, it was humane, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure if firing him was justified, but in the end he found himself being angry at himself and not at his boss. His former boss, he should say.

One thing, however, was sure. He couldn’t go back. He had to find something else, even if he was questioning himself and everything around him.

The next job on the list was another restaurant. It wasn’t quite as luxurious as the one he’d worked at before, but still a fairly good option. It was a little further down on his list because it was a bit farther away from his apartment than he’d wished for, but he didn’t complain. He quickly memorized the address and then shoved the little note back into his pocket.

“I’m so _sick_ of it.”

He could make out a familiar voice coming from behind him. He couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard it before, but he quickly turned around, trying to find the person who’d just talked. He noticed two young boys approaching him and just as he thought they were about to bump into him, they passed him, not even paying him the slightest bit of attention.

But he had. He had noticed him, had noticed their faces, had examined the person on the left first before his glance shifted to the right and stuck to the other person. Then he realized it. Those familiar features, the dark hair, the angry expression on his face.

“They really seem to care more about a damned meal than about me.”

It was him, the son from three days ago.

San’s glance followed them as they distanced themselves further from him. Something just told him that their conversation was about what had happened at the restaurant. Curious about what the boy had to say about it, about _San,_ he started following them. It was like his legs had become a whole different entity, like they were carrying him without him being able to control them, to make them stop. It was as though someone inside his head told him what to do and he just obeyed, not even second guessing it.

“It was horrible, so embarrassing. It was the first time in months that my parents and I went out as a family without any of their potential business partners sitting opposite us. No bragging, no kissing ass. Just us. I’d been looking forward to this day for weeks and then _this_.”

San didn’t quite understand why he was so upset, why he was still upset after three days. Why was he embarrassed when it was San who’d been scolded in front of the whole restaurant? His parents had had every right to complain, he’d made a mistake after all—not just one mistake. He should’ve been mad at San for having caused his parents to blow up like a bomb, eventually leading to their family evening getting ruined. If San hadn’t brought them the wrong dish, none of that would’ve happened.

So why was he complaining about his parents?

It annoyed San, gave him the pressing urge to grab his shoulders and swing him around just to tell him to his face that he shouldn’t behave like such an ungrateful child. San would’ve given everything to have parents like the ones he had, parents that actually cared enough about him to complain about a simple dish, parents that went out with him as a family, parents that were actually alive.

San was boiling inside, had his hands clenched into trembling fists.

He felt how his legs carried him towards them, he was determined to give him a piece of his mind. He reached out to them with his arm, his hand almost got a hold of the boy’s backpack and—

“I feel so abandoned.”

He froze. He could feel the cold ice around his fingertips and how it spread to his heart, his legs, covering his whole body. A cold shudder ran down his spine, his eyes were wide, his heart was bleeding.

“I feel like an orphan. My parents are alive and well but why do I seem to know less about them than I know about a stranger? I felt closer to that waiter in the restaurant than I do to my own parents. I can’t even recall the last time I had a nice day with my family. All they care about is their jobs and money and looking good.”

His poor voice was shaking, making it seem like he was fighting back malicious tears. His friend was shaking his head in disbelief, had his hand around the other’s shoulder and patted it slightly.

“I’m so sorry, Wooyoung.” He said, still comforting him. From the side, San could see his worried look, he seemed so sad. “I’d really hoped for it to be a wonderful evening. I know how much you were looking forward to it.”

_Wooyoung._ What a beautiful name.

San was still stunned. He’d stopped walking and as they got further away from him, their voices became quieter, their words more and more difficult to understand.

He felt like an idiot. He realized that he was not even slightly better than the people who didn’t want to hire him earlier. Just like them, San had dismissed Wooyoung and had judged poorly about him without any good reason. He didn’t know anything about him and yet he’d just assumed he was a spoiled brat when he probably wasn’t much different from San. 

They both had been abandoned and rejected by the people they loved, they were lone wolves. For San it had been long too late to fix that, but Wooyoung’s parents were still alive. Yet it seemed that whatever the poor boy tried, nothing helped, nothing could attract his parents’ attention.

How cruel it must be, and how painful.

It was like a bond had formed between them, like they got connected by a red, sparkling thread that was impossible to cut through. This thread tucked at San, urged him to keep walking, to follow this person that he shared more with than he’d ever imagined it possible.

He started walking again, made sure he didn’t lose sight of Wooyoung. He didn’t want to scold him anymore. He wanted to smile at him, offer him comfort, hold his hands. A silent hug.

He saw them stop in front of quite a big house, then the friend turned to Wooyoung.

“You sure you don’t want to come to my place?” He asked.

Wooyoung shook his head, there was a sad smile on his face. “I honestly just want to take a shower and then go to bed. But thanks, Yeosang. If it wasn’t for you, I probably would’ve ran away a long time ago.”

His friend smiled at him. “Well, if you ever mean to run away, tell me and let’s leave together.”

_Wooyoung could be with San._

He could be with him, in the little apartment that they would call their home. No rejections, no more tears.

San was leaning against a stone wall just opposite the big house, his figure partially hidden behind expensive cars. He watched as the friend, Yeosang, waved at Wooyoung and then turned the other way, leaving him behind. Alone. There was a slight pain in his chest.

As much as San felt the urge to go up to him, to tell him that he felt the same even though their situations were a little different, he just couldn’t. Something was holding him back and he didn’t know what it was. Was he scared? He looked down at his hands, they were shaking again, his heart was still pounding furiously against his chest, almost as though it was screaming for Wooyoung.

He was feeling again. Wooyoung let him feel something.

When he looked up from his hands, he saw how Wooyoung’s beautiful silhouette had disappeared behind the gigantic entrance door. San had reached out for him, a desperate whimper escaped his lips. It was too late.

But he still found himself unable to move just an inch. He stood there as though he was waiting for Wooyoung to come back and straight into his arms. A hug? Would he hug him? Would he wrap his arms around the boy, thread his bony fingers through his soft, black hair and tell him that he in fact wasn’t alone? Would Wooyoung breathe against his neck softly and if so, would his breath be cold or warm?

He was longing for an embrace and he wondered if Wooyoung was feeling the same.

When he suddenly saw a movement in one of the windows, his heart began to race. There he was again, the faded shape of his body inside the window frame. He’d loosened the tie around his neck before he ripped it off completely, San could see his sadness driven anger. He automatically stepped closer, the cold wall against his back disappeared and his eyes were fixed at the window. He cursed the sun for shining right into it, making it hard for him to see clearly.

But what he saw had left him astonished. It was the sight of beautiful white flesh that freed itself from the white clothing that had caged it. Wooyoung’s torso was the most beautiful thing San had ever seen in his life. It seemed so innocent, so flawless. It was such a shame that his beauty wasn’t as appreciated as it should’ve been. The way he wriggled his arms out of the sleeves, how he just tossed the shirt somewhere San couldn’t see from where he was standing and how he ran his hand over his neck and his chest, down to his stomach, seemed so magical to San that he couldn’t get his eyes off of him. He didn’t even dare waste time on blinking.

Wooyoung was something special. He was unreal, almost. San couldn’t bear the thought that he was being neglected like this, that no one seemed to care about him enough.

He wanted to be that person for him. The only one.

San startled when he heard a loud noise coming from his pocket. He quickly recognized his ringtone and took out his phone, a familiar name popped up on the display. He pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear.

“Hyung.”

_“San?”_ The voice on the other side of the line sounded urgent. _“How’s the job hunting going?”_

He just so managed not to groan. “Not so good.”

_“Perfect!”_

For a second, San was staring at the phone display in utter disbelief. “Sorry?”

_“I mean, it’s great because you just got yourself a new job.”_

“Hyung, please, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

He could physically hear him roll his eyes. _“I’ve been getting quite a lot of jobs recently and I figured that I can’t manage all of this work on my own. I’m looking for an employee. You in?”_

His friend Hongjoong was a photographer. San had always admired his work, the photos he took were absolutely amazing. He’d always considered him a magician because he made people look like masterpieces, like the main characters in a perfect fantasy world. Working for him would be like a dream coming true, especially because he would be working for someone he knew, someone he was comfortable with.

“Are you sure, though? I know nothing about photography.”

_“No problem, I’ll show you everything you need to know. You’re gonna be just fine. So?”_

“If you say so then of course I’m in.” San couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Hyung.”

_“Perfect. You start tomorrow, 8 a.m. Don’t be late, and from now on call me boss.”_

“Got it, Hyung.” San quickly shook his head. “ _Boss_.”

There was a giggle at the end of the other line before it died. San took his phone from his ear and stared at the display with a smile on his face. He let it disappear inside his pocket and instead took out the little note again. He ripped it apart once, twice, until it became a jigsaw puzzle with hundreds of pieces.

Then he looked up again, like a magnet his gaze was directed toward the window that was now empty. For a second San could feel a wave of sadness and disappointment flush through his body. Wooyoung was gone, he and his beautiful, porcelain-like skin had disappeared entirely.

But somehow San couldn’t be sad for too long. There was a thought that kept crossing his mind on his way home, while he cooked himself something to eat, when he took a shower under the cold water, before he went to sleep.

The thought to himself that he could still go back tomorrow.

And he did. He did go back the next day and the day afterwards. He could count the days he didn’t see Wooyoung on one hand. This special bond, this red thread that had formed between them kept pulling San closer and closer to the beautiful boy, to his treasure, and after a while San understood why.

He needed to save him. 

  
  
  


_14 May 2018_

_Dear diary,_

_there is something about him that makes him seem like a dream. The way he talks, the way he moves, it’s unreal. He’s like a fantasy that lives in my head and torments me every day and night, but I found myself enjoying it. He makes me obsessed._

_Whenever I see him, I feel the urge to touch him. I want to wrap my arms around his beautiful waist, his skin that I imagine being as soft as a cloud full of feathers._

_I want to look into his eyes forever, I want him to look back at me._

_He has become everything to me. He isn’t just an obsession or a fantasy. He is a beautiful caterpillar that has caged itself inside a tight chrysalis and I want to free him so he can become a sparkling butterfly, one like those that excitedly swirl around inside my stomach whenever I see him._

_Dear diary, is this love?_

  
  


It was the first time San had followed Wooyoung into the little bakery. He’d watched him buy sweets from there many times, sometimes with his friends and sometimes without, but he’d never had the chance to catch a glimpse of what he was actually buying. But today they were standing in line together, Wooyoung all the way at the front, currently placing his order, and San was last in line, trying his best not to lose Wooyoung between the heads of the strangers standing between them. He couldn’t hear what Wooyoung was ordering, the music in the bakery and the people talking to each other made it impossible to understand any word his beautiful star was saying.

But he did see what cake he’d bought. It was a pretty cake, a colorful one with raspberries and pink whipped cream on top. He saw how the employee smiled at him while putting the cake into a beautiful box that had the name of the bakery on it. She seemed completely enchanted by him, was she in love with him? San didn’t blame her. In fact, he blamed everyone who wasn’t in love with Wooyoung. He didn’t know if he was smiling back at her but he waved as he took the little box with the cake, only resulting in her cheeks to get redder and redder. 

San’s eyes followed Wooyoung as he approached the door but before he got out, he looked back. San’s eyes widened, their glances met for a split second and suddenly he forgot how to breathe. The last time that Wooyoung looked at San was in the restaurant, and even there he’d done his best to avoid San’s miserable eyes. He wondered if Wooyoung still remembered him, if he knew that he was the waiter that had messed up his order that day. San didn’t know if he _wanted_ Wooyoung to recognize him.

In the end, he’d just disappeared. He’d walked through the door like nothing had happened, hadn't made the impression that he’d recognized San. Maybe he would turn around again to take another look while asking himself if he knew the man with the cap and the dark hair, asking himself where he’d seen him before. But he never did.

And San just stood there looking, contemplating whether he’d just missed his one time chance.

“Sir?”

He looked up. The line in front of him had disappeared, another one had formed behind him. The curious eyes of the employee were fixed at him, waiting for him to give up his order. Another glance through the glass door, Wooyoung was long gone.

He quickly walked up to the counter, his eyes were searching for the cake that Wooyoung had ordered before, there it was, the last piece desperately waiting for him to buy it. He pointed at it with a big smile.

“This one, please.”

“Raspberry Lemon,” said the girl. “Good choice. It’s very popular at the moment.”

San nodded and smiled at her, excitement was building up inside of him. He watched her as she went through the same procedure as before, carefully placing the cake inside the pretty box. He quickly handed her the money before he took the cake and left. He couldn’t stop smiling.

San didn’t know where Wooyoung was at that moment. He’d probably gone home or was walking towards Yeosang’s house but he certainly was on his way to enjoy the cake. Lemon raspberry. San smiled.

Holding the precious cake in his hands like it was the most important thing to him, he decided to walk home as well. He wondered what it would taste like, if it was sour or sweet, maybe even completely different.

Before he could reach the apartment complex, San heard a familiar voice.

“Hyung! Hi!”

San smiled when he made out the little guy sitting on one of the swings in the playground, waving at him. He walked over, waving back.

“Hey, Yoojin.”

“What do you have there?” He was pointing at the little box, the chest that was holding San’s biggest treasure.

He grinned at the little boy. “Cake. Want some? It’s a very special cake.”

He saw how Yoojin’s eyes began to sparkle, he nodded so hastily that his hair flew into all the different directions. San giggled and ran his hand through the little boy’s hair in an attempt to fix them again while his own hair probably didn’t look any better underneath his cap.

He sat down besides him on the other swing which was slightly lower than the one Yoojin was occupying. He carefully placed the box on his lap and opened it, he could feel Yoojin’s excited glance on him the whole time.

The cake already smelled like a sweet dream. Suddenly he wondered if Wooyoung also smelled like that. Sweet and fruity. He smiled. With the little plastic fork that the lady had put next to the cake, he took up a piece of it and held it to Yoojin’s mouth.

“Try it!”

With curious eyes San observed the little one as he came closer and devoured the piece of cake. His eyes widened, then he chewed, swallowed and went _mhhh!_

San laughed. “Is it good?”

“Good?!” Yoojin shook his head. “That’s the best cake ever! Don’t tell mum, but it’s even better than the one she bakes. And you know she’s the best baker in the world!”

That was true. Yoojin’s mother always brought San self-baked cake at least once a month and all of her creations tasted excellent. She always tried something new, never brought the same kind of cake twice. She and Yoojin were the closest thing to a family that San had. This little rascal was his best friend somehow.

“Hyung, try some!” Yoojin was pointing at the cake and San nodded, he felt excited. He took up another piece of cake onto the spoon looked at it for a couple of seconds before shoving it into his mouth and somehow it tasted nothing like he’d expected but hundred times better than he could’ve imagined.

It tasted soft and even warm, like different candies and flowers. That was the taste that Wooyoung liked.

San grinned at the little boy who was already begging for another bite. They shared it, taking bites in turn while none of them said a word to each other but going _mhhh!_ whenever one of them took another bite until nothing was left of it, not even a single crumble. 

“What are you doing here anyways?” San asked him as he put the fork back into the box and closed it. For a second he contemplated whether he should keep it as some kind of memorabilia, but then he threw it away, using it as an excuse for himself to go and buy another piece again soon.

“Well, I’m waiting for my friends. We agreed on playing military at four.”

San took a glance at his phone. “It’s almost six.”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds and it looked like Yoojin wanted to say something, he was probably trying to come up with a reasonable explanation why none of his friends had showed up yet, but he didn’t say a word. It hurt a little, it hurt San’s heart.

“Wanna play cars in my apartment?” San smiled when he saw Yoojin’s head shoot up. He jumped up from the swing, nodding.

“Okay, but I’ll take the black one with the red flames!” He stuck out his tongue and then proceeded to run towards the apartment building.

“Hey!” San quickly got up as well and tried to catch up with the little man. “That’s not fair, we both know it’s the coolest!”

And still he smiled, remembering the cake and how he’d never felt so close to Wooyoung before. He couldn’t wait to see him the next day.

  
  
  


_10 July 2018_

_Mum, I am not sure whether I like the present you gave me 19 years ago._

_I constantly have to look after it, make sure it doesn’t die._

_It is exhausting. I think I’m failing at it._

_Let’s meet again, soon, Mum._

San closed his diary and put it next to him on the floor but his fingers were still wrapped around his fountain pen that was missing its lid. His eyes were fixed at the dark window, the sky and its countless stars, all shining brightly as though they were smiling down at him and it made him sad. He was wondering why he wasn’t shining as brightly as them, why he wasn’t even smiling on a day like this.

He was wondering why he was alone.

It was the first year he hadn’t even bothered buying a cake for himself. He didn’t feel like blowing out candles, there was nothing to wish for anyways. Had he known how hard it is to look after himself sometimes he would’ve asked his mother to take him with her that day. He felt like he was watching a little child, caring for it alone but miserably failing at it.

He knew how to cook, yes. He was able to feed the child but somehow everything he cooked tasted bland, almost sad. He learned how to earn money and yet the child had to shower with cold water too often. He knew how to play with it but why did the child never smile like it wasn’t having any fun? Why, with every day, did the child seem to suffer more and more, making it only a matter of time until it would succumb to its sufferings? And why, when the child looked at San, did he see no one else but himself in it?

Loneliness was human’s greatest enemy.

San was looking down at his pen, at his wrist. He began drawing meaningless lines on his skin, added smiling faces that he’d referred to as friends and family until he ran out of ink and both of his arms were covered in black scribbles. He put the pen on top of his notebook and then lay down, his back resting against the cold floor. He looked at his arms, the smiling faces were encouraging him to join them but he just couldn't bring himself to lift the corners of his mouth. He let his arms sink again, then he closed his eyes, not bearing the sight of the stars anymore.

He feared he couldn’t go visit his mother just yet. He had responsibilities, he had Wooyoung. If he left him alone, he would feel no different from San. Lonely and Abandoned. He couldn’t do that to him, he had to save him, get him out of this dark place before it was too late, before Wooyoung would stare at the stars just like San did a minute ago, wondering if it was better to just become one of them instead of being jealous of them for they never were alone.

He would save Wooyoung. They would save each other.

This thought was worth smiling for. San curved his lips into a smile, he opened his eyes again and looked at the stars for the last time this night.

“Not today,” he whispered, still smiling. “Happy birthday, San.”

Suddenly he wished he had a cake.

  
  
  


_3 August 2018_

Wooyoung had become an obsession, even more than that. He’d completely changed San until he’d become something different, another human being. Well, could you even call him human anymore?

San never stopped thinking about him. Everything he saw reminded him of Wooyoung. The beautiful sky, the smiling sun, the leaves dancing with the wind. He saw his face in every mirror, had his smile imprinted in his mind. His melodic voice sounded like a catchy pop song in his ears. Once conquered, Wooyoung had occupied every single of one of San’s dreams. He would hug him, hold his hand, run his fingertips across his beautiful waist. Once he dreamt that Wooyoung called him by his name. The way he said it felt like a spell, he had San under his control. He loved it. He loved him.

In the beginning there was just one photo, then there was a small pile of them. Now he could barely open the door to his room without knocking over one of the towers he’d built with the photographs he’d taken of his treasure.

It wasn’t healthy, that’s what some might have said when looking at San. But to him it felt like a way out of this miserable hole that he was in. The more photos he took of Wooyoung, the closer he got to him and the more often he saw him, another stringer would appear on the ladder that would eventually lead San into freedom.

Wooyoung was San’s last chance, just like the other way around. If what San was doing was considered unhealthy, then he never wanted to be healthy again.

He was sitting in a pitch black office, the only light source was the bright computer screen. San had just finished the work he’d gotten from Hongjoong which was mostly just retouching photos in photoshop from a shooting last week. He’d been right. In the beginning, there was a lot that San had had to learn, but he was motivated and learned quickly.

The photos he was editing featured a beautiful young couple. San hadn’t been there when they took the photos but Hongjoong had told him that they’d married just a few days earlier without anyone knowing because their parents didn’t approve of their relationship. 

The photos looked vintage, almost like they were taken in the 70s, which made them look a little tragic and sad. The clothes they were wearing looked outdated but they suited them and their aesthetic. They looked so innocent and happy even though both of them had probably been through a lot. The difference was, however, that they’d had each other. They went through these things together. They had turned on their parents and their traditions because they couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from each other. Just being together was enough for them, they didn’t need anything else but each other. That was the kind of feeling that San got when looking at their photos.

They looked beautifully tragic.

He saved the pictures to a new folder and took a look at the clock, realizing that he should’ve clocked out a long time ago but somehow he’d gotten immersed into the couple and their magical bond. It was just like the one between him and Wooyoung, just a little stronger.

His glance wandered to his camera, he’d gotten it from Hongjoong a while ago and it was the one he used to take photos of Wooyoung. The first time he secretly took a photo of his treasure almost gave him a heart attack, he’d been quite nervous about it and in the beginning he seemed like a real amateur, but after a while he got the gist of it. Now he was taking the most beautiful pictures.

The latest photo he’d taken was one from today before he got to work. He’d waited for Wooyoung to finish his classes. When he saw him walk out of the school building, Wooyoung had his sleeves rolled up even though he was already wearing a shirt. It was quite a hot day, though. His friend Yeosang was walking next to him, he saw them talking but he couldn’t hear a word of it since he was too far away.

Wooyoung had squinted at the sun while trying his best to cover his eyes with his hand. San loved the folds that appeared on Wooyoung’s nose whenever he did that. Yeosang had offered him sunglasses but he'd declined. Maybe he’d forgotten his own at home? But he was glad he didn’t take the glasses because it enabled for San to see his beautiful eyes. The beautiful thing about summer was that Wooyoung’s skin had taken up a nice tan. San remembered the day he first saw him shirtless and compared it to when he saw him just a couple of days ago. His porcelain skin wasn’t white like snow anymore but slightly darker. He looked absolutely gorgeous. 

He'd smiled at his treasure as he took up his camera and waited for the right moment. _Click._

Every photo that San took of Wooyoung turned out absolutely stunning. It wasn’t the camera’s work, wasn’t even San’s new photography skills. It was just Wooyoung being himself, this absolute beauty. 

Without even thinking about what he was doing, San connected the camera to his computer and uploaded the last picture. He knew he probably shouldn’t have done that but he just couldn’t stop himself. Hongjoong never used his computer anyways.

Like a robot he opened the picture in photoshop and started refining it. He didn’t even bother changing anything about Wooyoung, he was as perfect as one could get, but instead he fixed the lighting and blurred out the background to let his treasure shine in the spotlight he deserved.

Next, he printed out the picture and saved it to his private folder, shut down the computer and shoved the picture into his little backpack. 

At home he opened his diary at a new blank page and added the date. He stuck the photo underneath it.

_My sunshine._

  
  
  


_26 November 2018_

Six p.m. The night was utterly cold and seemed darker than most nights. The sky was clear, billions and trillions of stars were looking down at San but they were only shining for one person. Wooyoung. 

San was standing outside across the street to Wooyoung’s house in the same spot as always. From there he got the best view into Wooyoung’s room, though he couldn’t see everything. It was enough, however, to see a closet in the back and right underneath the window San suspected there to be a desk because it always looked like Wooyoung was sitting there while studying, surfing the internet or while reading erotic magazines. 

San had imagined being in Wooyoung’s room several times. He’d tried to imagine how it looked, if he had any kinds of posters on the walls or on his door. He quickly dismissed that thought because San couldn’t think of a person that Wooyoung admired more than himself. He believed him to have photos of himself on his walls, maybe there were polaroid pictures with his friend Yeosang, probably beautiful selfies. San would give everything to have one of those.

He believed his room to be quite clean, mostly because they had this nice lady who probably spent more time in Wooyoung’s house than his parents. But actually, San wanted to believe that Wooyoung was actually quite a messy person, someone who left his dirty clothes on the floor, someone who never made his bed—not because he knew someone else would make it for him but because he knew he would go back to bed in a few hours anyway. He loved thinking about Wooyoung like that. Over the time, San had noticed all the different things about him, all his little quirks and habits. They only made him love Wooyoung more.

But he was always left wondering whether they would’ve become friends if San was still in school, if Wooyoung had ever invited him over to his place so they could play some games or look at those erotic magazines that he seemed to like so much. He wondered if they’d have laughed together, if they’d have stolen some alcohol from the cabinet in their living room while his parents were away. Would they have fought in a playful way because they were _boys_ , with their cheeks all rosy? Or would they have practiced kissing under the pretext that they were just friends preparing themselves for the real world that just so teemed with glossy female lips?

Sometimes San got so caught up in those fantasies that he often believed them to be true. One time he actually almost walked up to Wooyoung, had almost wrapped his arm around his neck and playfully gave him a noogie. Wooyoung would curse at him for messing up his hair but there would be a smile on his face, a laughter afterwards. But then San noticed that he wasn’t wearing their uniform, he noticed that he was holding a camera, that Yeosang was in the place that was meant for San. It made him hate reality.

But for Wooyoung's sake, San couldn't give up. He couldn’t let himself get dragged into this hole of depression again just because he didn't get what he wanted right away. He was so selfish sometimes, he knew that and he wanted to change it since this wasn’t about San, it was about Wooyoung. All his attention was meant for him and him only and today was quite a special day, probably the most special of them all. It was Wooyoung’s birthday.

His parents weren’t home, San knew that because he’d seen them leave for work in the morning and they hadn’t returned yet. San had learned to despise them. They didn’t know how much harm they were inflicting on their precious son every day. Since he wasn’t receiving any love from his parents he had to compensate for it with his own love. In the end, there wasn’t any love left for anyone else but himself and that was sad. If Wooyoung knew that he was being loved, that San would give him everything, this could change.

It hurt to see Wooyoung being so sad on his birthday. San knew that he’d probably hoped to spend the day with his family. Instead, after school, Wooyoung and some of his classmates had gone to his favorite cafe and had ordered a cake, they had celebrated a little and Wooyoung had genuinely looked happy. The smile on his pretty face hadn't seemed fake and also, why would it? People cared about him, they celebrated him, celebrated his life, that he was born. He deserved that. The fact that Wooyoung’s own parents didn’t seem to care just infuriated him, made him hate those people more than anyone else in the world. 

Then the light lit up in Wooyoung’s room, San’s eyes got bigger and bigger, his pupils dilated when he saw his treasure appear in the little window. It hurt San’s heart when he saw the sad expression on his face. He looked a little angry as well. When he should be smiling today out of all days, the corners of his mouth were curved the opposite way and to San it felt like the sharp tip of an arrow was piercing through his flesh, right where his heart was. He didn’t want Wooyoung to feel like that on his birthday and the urge to take him into his arms just grew bigger, so much that it almost suffocated San.

What made this scene even more tragic was the fact that Wooyoung looked like an angel. His beauty was impossible to put into words and San had long given up trying to describe it. Gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking. Those were words that didn’t justify this sensation that San was feeling whenever he looked at his treasure. Seeing him alone seemed unfair.

He watched how Wooyoung sat down at his desk right in front of his window. Sometimes Wooyoung would look outside but he never saw San, never even looked as much as into his direction. He only ever looked at the sky, letting San wonder whether there was something particular that he was looking for. Was there a star that he personally liked? Was he into constellations? San looked up. He couldn’t make one out. Maybe Wooyoung also looked into the sky because it reflected him.

Sad had noticed this before, but the night sky always seemed to be a reflection of the observer. When you looked up after having a beautiful day, the sky seemed to be smiling back at you. But then, when you were sad, it was as though the stars were crying with you. It was a phenomenon that often frightened San. But there were nights in which he’d find himself staring into the sky for hours as though he was looking for answers to the questions about himself, questions that he couldn't answer. 

But the sky was just as clueless as you yourself.

He looked back at Wooyoung. He was holding something in his hand that turned out to be a little enveloped. He pulled something out of it that looked like money and at the sight of it, the corners of Wooyoung’s mouth had dropped even further. San reached out for them as though he was trying to catch them. He saw how Wooyoung just tossed the envelope into one direction and the money into another, then he let himself sink into his chair so much that it was hard for San to still see him. 

San had thought about what he would’ve gotten Wooyoung as a present. The first thing that had come to his mind was his favorite cake, but he’d had a piece just a few hours ago with his friends. Something he’d always fantasised about was buying clothes for him. The idea of being able to choose a little outfit for him seemed so pure and warmed his heart. He imagined Wooyoung trying them on and posing like he was a model on a runway.

What about a little kiss as present?

Wooyoung straightened his back, if San looked close enough he could see how he ran his tongue across his lips seductively. He got goosebumps, it was like a change of atmosphere. He couldn't _see_ where Wooyoung’s hand was wandering off to, but he knew it. Watching how Wooyoung reacted to his own touches was incredible. His beautiful lashes fluttered, he squeezed his eyes shut. The way his mouth was slightly parted felt like he was whispering a magic spell meant for San.

He couldn’t get his eyes off him, couldn’t stop staring. The movement of Wooyoung’s hand got quicker, he squeezed his eyes shut, the little folds between his eyebrows appeared again as they knitted. His body trembled and twitched, then he stopped and San could breathe.

His breath was quick and uneven, he gulped. He didn’t dare look down at himself. Instead he just grabbed the ends of his hoodie and tucked at them, pulling the hoodie down further so it could cover his crotch area. He felt how his cheeks were glowing, he felt hot in this November night. A flustered smile was on his lips.

_Happy birthday, darling._

  
  
  


_20 September 2019_

_Mother._

He was looking into his mother’s eyes. Her glance hurt, made his heart bleed and ache. He felt cold even though it was a warm day. Her picture was right next to her urn, she didn’t smile in it but she’d never smiled, in none of their pictures. Looking at her made him wonder what she would’ve looked like if she was still alive. Would she have cut her hair? Woud she have gotten bangs or a perm? Maybe she would've been one of those hip mums that dyed their hair bright colors. 

Maybe she would’ve looked just the same.

It’s been three whole years already. San was wearing a suit, it was the only one he owned and it had been quite an expensive one by his standards, but that hadn’t mattered to him. It was the same suit that he’d worn on the day of her funeral.

San would only ever wear this suit once a year, to the anniversary of her death. It was also the only day he cared about looking like a decent human being. He didn’t know why he was trying so hard, it wasn’t like he could feign having his life under control to his mother. She knew, she had her eyes on him all the time but regardless, it made San feel better. It felt to him as though his mum was giving him a pat on his head, telling him that she was proud of him when there really wasn’t anything to be proud of.

San’s life was a mess.

He remembered showing up at the crematorium shortly after his father’s death. He’d apologized that she’d had to go before him, that San could only deliver the message after she’d already passed. When she was still alive and San heard her cry at night, he promised to himself that he would throw a party with her on the day his father died. He felt responsible for not having been able to do so after it had happened. He felt responsible for a lot of things.

From time to time he liked to imagine how he and his mother would've spent his father’s death anniversary, preparing a feast and dancing to funky music. Sometimes he just liked to imagine himself holding his mother’s hand while walking along the Han River. And every day the memories of his mother faded, her image in his head became more and more blurry and he feared that one day he might forget it forever, forget her.

He wished he could say that he was better off without her. He wished he could say that forgetting her would eventually relieve his pain. But he feared the day he would wake up trying to remember his mother’s face with her straight, black hair and her droopy eyes and he just couldn’t do it like he’d never had a mother to begin with.

That’s why he liked her picture so much. It was genuine. It was like seeing her come home after work. It was like seeing her in the morning after sleepless nights. It was like seeing her after his drunken father had fallen asleep on the cold floor.

San didn’t admit it, but he’d already forgotten her smell and the softness of her touch. He’d already forgotten the sound of her voice, the way her face looked with a smile.

He had nothing but that picture.

  
  
  


_15 October 2019_

_Dear diary,_

_dyed his hair grey. Beautiful._

San glued a picture underneath the entry. He’d actually known that Wooyoung had planned to change his hair color, San even knew where Wooyoung usually got his hair cuts. Most of the time he’d just get them trimmed, sometimes he’d only go there to have them styled, but that day he even changed his whole hair color. He’d gone into the hair salon with pitch black hair and had emerged from it hours later with a shiny silver head that resembled a diamond. Not a raw one, a perfect one.

San smiled. His room was dimly lit, it was already past midnight. The night was cold and dark but the light in his room was warm and comforting. There was a content smile on his face, with one hand he was holding his foundation pen, with the other he took a strand of hair between two fingers, twirling it. He observed the light, blonde color of his hair, looked back at the photograph in his diary and noticed that the colors were quite different from each other.

He wasn’t upset about it, not at all. It had taken him hours to get his hair to this color and he actually liked how it looked on him. He didn’t look as beautiful as Wooyoung, but somehow he felt more connected to him.

That night San could sleep, even though the chemical smell of his hair was stinging his nose. 

  
  
  
  


_17 October 2019_

_Dear diary,_

_I know he noticed me today._

When San woke up that morning, he didn’t think that today would be any different. After having met Wooyoung and after having started to follow him around, to protect him, San had adopted some kind of routine. He’d wake up early in the morning and have breakfast, then he’d go out and work and after that he’d visit his treasure. When he worked at night he could see him in the morning, sometimes after school and sometimes in the evening in the death of night. But even when he didn’t work he sought Wooyoung’s smile, just like that morning.

Yesterday he’d worked until he could see the sun rise. He didn’t have to stay that long but sometimes when San was at work alone he forgot the time. He wasn’t really working, he’d just sat in his chair in an office plunged into darkness because he didn’t bother getting up to turn the lights on. The only sound you could hear was the old computer working and San was busy contemplating whether he was cold or hot, whether he should wear his jacket or take off his hoodie.

He walked home in the warm light of the street lamps, already longing to see his darling. He didn’t fall asleep easily that night, which wasn’t something unusual to him, but he’d woken up even earlier than expected. He’d made it just in time to Wooyoung’s home to see him close the door behind him and walk through the fence, heading to school. The expression on his face was questionable. There was no smile but he also didn’t look angry. San wondered if he’d slept well or if Wooyoung maybe also had trouble falling asleep sometimes. He wished he could go to bed next to Wooyoung just once in his life to see if having him besides him would help with his insomnia. 

Not once did Wooyoung’s beautiful frame leave the lense of San’s camera. He took pictures of him at a distance, his beautiful hair was flowing swiftly in the wind but it didn’t look messy. It was one of Wooyoung’s skills. He looked perfect at any time of the day, looked absolutely stunning even at night when he was asleep with his hair falling into every possible direction, his mouth halfway opened and one hand loosely hanging from the side of his bed. Just how beautiful must he look waking up? When he would rub his eyes, his lips dry and slightly parted, on his cheeks would be the imprints of the folds of the pillow on which he had lain. His glance disoriented and confused, but happy.

San had almost lost Wooyoung out of sight from all his daydreaming. But he saw him walking into school where he stayed for several hours. San didn’t like it when Wooyoung had to stay there until it got dark but luckily that day he’d come out of the building fairly early—earlier than expected. Was he skipping his tutoring classes? San couldn’t help but smile.

Wooyoung was waving at his best friend Yeosang and then they parted ways. You could suppose that Wooyoung leaving school earlier than usual already suggested that this day would be different from every other day, but San hadn’t realized that yet. For him it was still normal, normal until Wooyoung turned around suddenly. San had almost dropped his camera when he hid behind the wall. Pressing it against his chest, with his heart pounding in his rib cage, he waited in fear. Did Wooyoung see him? Had he heard San following him, taking beautiful pictures of him? San couldn’t get himself to glance around the corner out of fear that Wooyoung might stand right behind it.

But after quite a while, nothing had happened.

San carefully peaked around the corner, he saw that Wooyoung had continued walking like nothing had happened in the first place. San took a deep breath, a wave of relief flushed through his body. He continued walking.

It wasn’t the first time Wooyoung had turned around and it wasn’t the first time San had to hide from his beautiful eyes. But he suffered a little heart attack every time it happened, he just couldn’t get used to that feeling. The fear of what would happen when Wooyoung noticed San was immense. How big was the chance that Wooyoung was fine with having a stranger follow him around? Maybe he was fine with having his pictures taken--after all Wooyoung liked taking pictures of himself. Maybe it was possible that Wooyoung understood San’s deeds if he gave him the chance to just explain himself, but would he let him? Or would he just call the police? Would he accuse San of having any malice intentions?

San wanted to believe that Wooyoung wasn’t that kind of a person. He was sure that once he understood where San was coming from, he’d accept it.

But it wasn’t the last time that Wooyoung had turned around that day. The way he looked round the area seemed suspicious to San, almost like Wooyoung knew, like there was something he was looking for, something specific. _San._

His heart was beating like crazy. He even thought about turning the other way, calling it a day. But he couldn’t. San couldn’t let go of Wooyoung. As much as he was afraid that he might be caught, the feeling of getting recognized by his treasure, his sweet love, was something so beautiful and addicting that it felt like he was physically unable to turn around. With every time Wooyoung turned around San’s heart started beating faster and faster but the smile on his face, the euphoria building up inside him grew bigger and bigger.

Only when Wooyoung disappeared behind that big door again did his heart calm down. He’d looked back for the last time that day, it was like he said San goodbye.

For San, it was like being cloud nine, except that he imagined it to be a place like the living room in his apartment, with the only difference that Wooyoung would be there too, relaxing on the floor napping, while the sun shone at him. San would give everything to make this come true, Wooyoung just had to say the word. 

That day had been different. It was the day that Wooyoung had first perceived San. He’d felt him in the most abstract way possible.

  
  
  


_20 October 2019_

_Dear diary,_

_things have changed a little. Wooyoung knows about me and I don’t know how to feel. I like it, I know that my existence makes Wooyoung happy in some way but I feel like he’s misinterpreting my intentions._

_As long as he is happy, though, I’m happy too._

_I saw him walking home with one of his classmates, the tall one. I don’t think Wooyoung likes him, so I was surprised to see them together. Maybe I got a little jealous, but I heard how he suggested Wooyoung get security cameras._

_I don’t like him either._

  
  
  


_30 October 2019_

_Dear diary,_

_today my heart broke into millions of pieces like a shattered mirror. I’m sad for so many reasons._

_One. I found out about the rumor that Wooyoung has a stalker. I know that Wooyoung set this rumor into the world and it’s nothing I’m mad about. I’m sad that no one believes him. I’m real! I am here! As much as I want to show my darling, Wooyoung, that he’s not crazy and that he’s not lying, I’m just too afraid. I guess I’m a coward after all._

_Two. I saw him hurt himself. The way he ripped open his skin like it was nothing hurt so badly that I felt like I was on the verge of crying, maybe I would've fainted if I hadn’t sat down for a while. I do not understand why he would do such a thing to his beautiful body. I feel like this is all my fault and yet I have no clue how to fix this mess. The images of him hurting himself haunt my dreams, won’t leave my head. It is so dreadful._

_Three. Does he really think of me like that? Does he think that I follow him because I wish him unwell? Because I want to harm him? My sole purpose is to protect him, to keep him safe. I’m like a guardian angel without the halo or the wings—but am I failing? I am trying to protect him from the evil that is lurking around every corner of this world and yet he seems afraid of me._

_Have I failed? Have I ever done any good? Or am I really just this disgusting stalker that everyone thinks I am?_

That night San even failed at falling asleep. His eyes were wide open, tired and dry. Every time he closed them he could see the tragic pictures of Wooyoung hurting himself like a horror movie flashing before him. He was having trouble breathing, he had feared for his life.

He wasn’t mad at Wooyoung, not a single bit. He knew why he’d started this story about a stalker, San even understood that what he was doing might look wrong. But Wooyoung was just trying to make his life more comfortable by lying. With San’s help, Wooyoung was getting the attention that he was lacking and San was happy for him. He’d do anything if it made Wooyoung smile. But he feared that this was not going to end well. He was worried and sad and he was mad at himself for not having done anything to help Wooyoung. Again, it seemed like it was all his fault.

He didn’t sleep the next day either. 

  
  
  


_1 November 2019_

_Dear diary,_

_things have changed._

Wooyoung’s lie had come to light. San knew that because Wooyoung had started to be alone. No one accompanied him on his way home, no one was laughing with him. In fact, it seemed as though people were laughing _at_ him. San had seen the faces people made behind his back as he passed them, he’d heard other students talk bad about him, they claimed that Wooyoung had made up this story just for attention. Even his best friend had turned on him and had started hanging out with the tall one. Their hateful glances were like gunshots.

San couldn't imagine the pain Wooyoung was going through. First his parents abandoned him and now not even his friends cared about him anymore. Now it was just him, he was alone again, even more so than before.

But as much as San had tried to come up with a way to help, to make things better, it seemed as though Wooyoung wasn’t the same anymore either. At least his feelings toward San had changed.

At first, he’d used San as a source of attention. Even though he didn’t know San’s face, there was a connection between them similar to partners in crime. But now it seemed as though San had evolved into Wooyoung’s biggest fear.

He started skipping school. First it was only once or twice a week but it quickly turned into whole weeks of missing out his classes. Whenever San caught him leaving his house, it was difficult for him to follow Wooyoung and keep up with him because he seemed so anxious. He’d started walking faster, he looked around every few seconds.

After a while he even stopped going out completely.

San felt like he had to do something. He knew that it was probably too late and that he should’ve helped him a while ago, but he thought that it was better to be a little late that to never help him at all.

So one day San wrote a little letter to Wooyoung. It said: _I haven’t seen you smile in over a week._ He also picked out two polaroid pictures that he’d taken of him when Hongjoong borrowed him a polaroid camera a while ago. The pictures he’d taken with it were so beautiful. 

He’d put the pictures and the little note into an envelope and left it on Wooyoung’s porch after having made sure that no one was looking. Luckily, Wooyoung hadn’t taken the advice about the security cameras too seriously.

It wasn’t the first time that San had tried to communicate with Wooyoung. But the first times he’d reached out to him, he really just wanted Wooyoung to see those little notes. One time he’d asked him to buy a warmer jacket because it was getting cold and another time he begged him not to be sad because it hurt so much seeing him like that. San had cunningly deployed those little notes inside Wooyoung’s pockets whenever he got the chance to get near him without getting noticed, or when Wooyoung left his jacket behind while ordering his favorite cake.

Those little notes were meant as encouragement, he’d written them to strengthen this beautiful bond between them. 

But the photos and the little letter he’d left the third time were to prove to others that he was real. He’d wanted for Wooyoung to show those around, to show them to his parents, to his friends and teachers. San didn’t care if he might get in trouble if that meant that people finally started to believe him. He deserved it, he deserved the attention, deserved being comforted.

But nothing like that had happened. Days passed and Wooyoung wouldn’t leave his house. San never saw him sit at his desk, he never saw him touch himself again, couldn't see his beautiful naked skin.

He believed that Wooyoung was hiding under his bed sheets not because people were unfair to him but because he was scared of San.

It hurt. In fact, it hurt so bad that San was going crazy, he didn’t know what to do. One day he was thinking about going into Wooyoung's house, but he quickly dismissed that. He didn’t want to give Wooyoung a heart attack. Then he thought about giving himself up to the police but he was _scared._

San had failed his mission. The only purpose why he was here had seemed to have vanished into thin air. He believed that he wasn’t needed anymore and yet he couldn’t let go. The obsession he had with Wooyoung had gone so far that even after having not seen him in weeks, San would still go to his house every day and wait in his usual spot with his eyes fixed at the empty window.

And Wooyoung never appeared in it, but the little sparkling thread that was holding them together also did not disappear. 

  
  
  


_Monday, 7:26, 16 November 2019_

San’s heart sank when he saw Wooyoung. Just how long had it been since he’d last seen him? It felt as though Wooyoung had completely changed. Not just mentally, also physically. He looked weak, like he hadn’t eaten in a few days and he looked so utterly tired. There were dark circles around his eyes, those eyes that looked red and sad.

San didn’t expect to see Wooyoung that day. He’d almost given up on the thought of seeing him ever again but he’d been wrong. That day the entrance door of their house suddenly flew open. San had expected Wooyoung’s parents to leave the house, but that hadn’t been the case.

It was his long lost treasure who stormed out of the house, leaving the little fence open when he walked through it. At first, San was so stunned that he almost forgot to follow him. It felt like the first day he started following Wooyoung around, the day he saw him with Yeosang. It felt fresh and new, completely different from all the other days he’d been with him.

Wooyoung was wearing his uniform, had his backpack on and was hurriedly walking down the road. He was walking quicker than usual, making it difficult for San to keep quiet while following him. He’d tried to make as few noise as possible, tired to synchronise their footsteps.

But then something weird happened. 

Wooyoung stopped abruptly, San quickly hid behind a corner, his heart was pounding audibly in his ears. He heard a _thud_ , Wooyoung’s heavy breathing, then, suddenly, there was his voice.

“Hello?”

San’s eyes widened in shock—was he talking to San? It was just a quiet whisper, maybe San was hallucinating, but what if he wasn’t? He pressed his palm against his mouth, he tried to keep calm. Maybe someone else had joined Wooyoung? He couldn’t possibly be talking to San, could he?

For a moment there was silence but San didn’t dare glimpse around the corner. Something told him that Wooyoung was waiting for him there. 

“Take me,” Wooyoung still whispered, his voice was shaking like crazy. “I want you to take me with you.’

San’s heart dropped. Wooyoung _was_ talking to him, no doubt. His words were directed toward him and only him. He seemed scared and upset, angry and hurt. San was petrified and couldn’t move, suddenly he feared that this was a trap. What if Wooyoung had called the police? What if this was nothing but a vicious plan?

“Fuck, _please._ I’m all alone, I don’t care anymore. This is your chance, take me, please. Do whatever you want, please.”

With every word, Wooyoung's voice got more and more desperate. You could hear that he was holding back tears, maybe they were already streaming down his face and San felt the urge to wipe them away with his thumbs and dry his cheeks with his soft and warm sleeves.

Even if this was a trap, maybe it was the last way to help Wooyoung. He was hopeless, didn’t know what to do. Wooyoung was seeking help and San finally had to man up and do what he’d meant to do all the while. He would help Wooyoung. This time he wouldn’t chicken out, he wouldn’t be a coward anymore.

He would help.

San let his hands sink, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It took him a moment before he could build up enough courage to turn around the corner. He slowly looked up and there he was, looking like a beautiful mess.

There were tears in his eyes, they were glistening. The red cheeks made him look like a doll and his hair was all messy. He was looking back at San. Finally. Their eyes met and San felt like he could physically see the thread that connected them. Wooyoung’s eyes were full of shock, but he looked happy, he looked relieved because he finally understood that he was no liar, that every one else was at fault and not him. He wasn’t crazy. 

And maybe he was not scared anymore? Was he trying to understand San?

San’s hands were shaking furiously. He was clutching onto his camera to conceal that, but it didn’t help a lot. He thought about what he could say, his lips were trembling when he opened them. In the end, all he could say was: 

“Why?”

Wooyoung seemed shocked. He’d gone completely silent, San couldn’t even hear his breathing anymore.

“Take me with you. I don’t care anymore. I’ll follow you. Just say it.”

There. He said it. He wanted to come with him. He wanted to live with him, wanted to be helped. Maybe San hadn’t been such a bad person after all. Maybe he would finally get to sleep next to Wooyoung, would be able to cook for him. He would give him everything he had, all the attention he could give. 

“I think you’re the only one who understands me. Don’t you want to have me? All for yourself?” Wooyoung had spoken again, this time his voice sounded more stable, more determined. It sounded like he really wanted it.

San thought for a second. Everything was silent. Then he turned around, took a deep breath before looking over his shoulder.

“Come.”

Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled. He started catching up. Wooyoung didn’t come too close but he was close enough for San to smell his perfume. It was sweet, just like him.

And this was it. This was their beginning. San would make Wooyoung the happiest person alive. He couldn’t help but smile, he felt like the world had changed for him, for them.

All he could think was that he loved him.

  
  
  
  
  


_8 December 2019_

He closed the door behind him but his hands remained wrapped around the handle. It was a lot more difficult to let go than he’d expected. He took the _for rent_ sign that was on the apartment door where Yoojin and his mother used to live and stuck it onto his apartment door.

He’d never expected for a day like this to come and while he knew this wasn’t the end, it hurt badly. Saying goodbye was never easy and he thought that he was done with farewells. But San had learned that there was one good thing about saying goodbye.

_There was always something you’re saying hello to._

In his case, he was saying hello to a new life. A life somewhere else, a life without worries. But most importantly he was saying hello to a life with Wooyoung. Even if he had to wait for him, he knew without a doubt that they would reunite. 

On the bus, San took out one of his diaries, the one that he hadn’t finished yet. He opened it on a new page and put his fountain pen onto the blank page.

_Dear diary,_

_goodbye Seoul. Hello Tongyeong._

  
  
  
  


_18 June 2020_

_Dear diary,_

_it’s getting warm. Wooyoung and I have moved into our own little house, can you believe that?_

_Wooyoung’s skin got tanned from the sun. Finally, when I'm holding his hands, they are warm. But I feel like something is missing on them, something that sparkled like his eyes and like the stars in the sky._

_And with every day I love him more and more._

This is not over.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, there you go guys!! I hope you liked it!! It's not much, I know, but I had so much fun writing this. It was like living through the whole universe again. Everyone, please stay safe and healthy and I hope I'll see some of you again soon!  
> Your PoeticMilk
> 
> Follow me on Twitter ([OhPoeticMilk](https://twitter.com/OhPoeticMilk)) for more updates!  
> Or ask me something on CuriousCat ([OhPoeticMilk](https://curiouscat.me/OhPoeticMilk))
> 
> If you haven’t seen the trailer for this fic yet, you can watch it here: [Trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YSQjSqIqvI)  
> You can go and listen to the "official" playlist [here ♡ ](https://open.spotify.com/user/mz3dajvl4lscx2t2qvfi6q3zw/playlist/4ImNWVlxxxRQlbWY9ih9wN?si=ucd4zg6jRN-ZXDBuA4dMoQ) :)  
> 


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